Weary
by teacups-and-murder
Summary: Post TRF- Sherlock is left worn down from his travels across the country and seeks Irene for help.


Hello, everyone! I recently opened up my ask box on Tumblr for ficlet requests and they seem to be quite popular. (At least for me! Haha.) So I'd thought I'd post them on here for you all as well. Hope you enjoy!

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_[set post The Reichenbach Fall, pre The Empty Hearse]_

Irene had been going about her day like she always did. She had made herself breakfast before going about doing some house work. She had dusted, changed the bed sheets, done the laundry, and the like. It was around lunch time when she heard a knocking on the door. Irene's brow furrowed in confusion. She didn't have any clients scheduled today. It was the reason she hadn't changed out of the night gown she was wearing or done her hair and make up. "Coming!" she called, running a hand through her mess of hair to try and get it to look like she hadn't just gotten out of bed. She glanced at herself in the mirror on the way to the door and decided that she was as good as she was going to get. Perhaps she'd received a package and it was simply the post man. That would make things a lot less complicated.

When she did open the door she found herself staring in disbelief. It was Sherlock Holmes. Even though his hair was long and facial hair had grown across that beautiful face of his, she could recognize those cheekbones anywhere. He smiled a bit as she stared at him. Irene could easily see the fatigue on his features. There were dark shadows beneath his eyes, his shoulders were sagging slightly. She didn't need an explanation. Sherlock needed a break and he had come to her. She held out her hand to him. "Come." she said quietly.

Sherlock took her hand and stepped in the door. He carefully closed the door behind him before he began to speak, "Irene, I-"

"Sshh." Irene cut him off, raising her free hand to place a finger over his lips. "I don't need an explanation." Sherlock had faked her death. Was it really that much of a stretch for Sherlock to have faked his own? Sherlock looked relieved at her words and nodded, taking his large backpack from his shoulders and setting it by the door. He then toed off his trainers, revealing bare feet that were marred with blisters. Irene carefully took his hand again and led him through her flat to her bathroom. "Let's get you a proper bath drawn and then I'll fix you something to eat, alright?" She began to run the water, making sure it was hot. She was sure he hadn't had a hot bath in some time. Sherlock only nodded, seemingly too tired to act of his own accord. Irene only smiled fondly and helped him to undress. He was covered in bruises. His shoulders and back bearing the most.

"I've been busy…" He started in way of explanation.

"I can see that." She replied as she gently helped him into the tub. Once he was settled under the layer of bubbles she got up to leave. She noted with satisfaction that he looked considerably more relaxed already. "Yell if you need anything, Sherlock. I'll be right outside." When she left, she kept the bathroom door a crack open. Just in case.

She didn't have much in way of food. She hadn't been expecting company. She did find a frozen lasagna dish in the freezer though and she supposed that would work for now. She stayed in the kitchen, keeping her ears open for any sounds from the bathroom. When the dish was done she sat it in the middle of her kitchen table, laying a cloth over it to keep the heat in. She waited for a few more minutes, silence still coming from the bathroom. She tried not to worry, but she couldn't help herself. So she went to her bedroom and found a set of spare clothes for Sherlock. A comfortable t-shirt and pajama bottoms. She remembered a client had forgotten them a long time ago. And so, Irene knocked lightly on the bathroom door before entering. "I brought you some clothes." she said lightly and then froze.

Sherlock was still in the tub, one arm draped out over the edge. His head was leaning back against the lip of the tub. His eyes were closed and his face lax. His lips slightly parted, allowing a soft snore to sound through the room.

Sherlock Holmes was sleeping in her bath tub.

She couldn't help but chuckle. But then she wondered just how long it had been since Sherlock had been able to relax. Truly able to let his guard down and allow himself to rest. She sat the clothes down she had gathered for him and carefully made her way over to the tub. She dipped her fingers into the water and found that it had gone lukewarm. "Sherlock, love." She whispered. She gently reached a hand out to stroke his damp hair away from his face. He only snuffled and turned his head into her hand. Irene felt a burst of warmth shoot through her chest and the smile on her face widened. "Sherlock, you can't sleep in the tub." She said a bit more loudly, continuing to stroke her fingers through his hair.

"But 'm warm." he slurred out.

Irene let out a breathy laugh. "Yes, but your more likely to drown. Come get a bite to eat and then we'll get you settled in bed, okay?"

Sherlock's eyes fluttered and then pulled themselves open. "Do I have to eat supper?"

Irene couldn't help but laugh again. "_Yes, _Sherlock. You've lost weight by the looks of you. Sooner you eat means the sooner you can go to bed." She leaned forward and pressed a light kiss to his forehead. "And in the morning I'll cut your hair for you and you can shave. Make yourself look a bit normal again." She teased. "The long haired look just isn't for you."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Yes, mum." But a smirk quirked at his lips all the same.

Irene pressed another kiss to his forehead. "Come on then, you lump. Let's get you fixed up."


End file.
